


The Way Home

by DrMorbius



Category: DICKENS Charles - Works, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 15:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17707232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrMorbius/pseuds/DrMorbius
Summary: A War veteran, traumatized by the Resistance War tries to recuperate by walking in the grounds of his hospital on Corellia.He meets a friend and his understanding of the mans story shows him there was something in the Jedi legend.





	The Way Home

Looking up to the sky, shading his eyes from the glare of the noon-day suns, he looked toward the gorge on Corellia.

It had held his imagination over weeks of convalescence in the veterans hospital at Falture. The Corellian medi-droids were the best in the galaxy at patching up broken people, almost as well as they patched up starships. The days he'd spent staring out of his window, anything for some distraction from the monotonous beeps of the equipment around him, the fussing of the droids, the constant drip of the fluids he’d needed after the action on Crait. 

He would leave the window open at night to scare his thoughts into stupor, an eerie red-green light could be seen emanating from the gorge, sounds from it rumbling though his dreams, filling him with smoke, drawing him in.  
Now, the land around was full of fog, he had ignored his attentive droid’s beeps of warning and ventured outside the hospital. Replacing imagination with reality.

Turning abruptly he picked his way through the ship debris field that lay past the hospital garden and was soon standing on the overhang carefully peering into the gorge. 

It was a violently straight slash in the sandstone bedrock, not a natural landform, but carved by droids long ago, now seen rusting in the fields. Along the gorge bottom lay a single train track. This put his heart to sleep, it had been yammering through his chest during his walk, it now beat steadily as the haunted memory of the place left him.

A tall black figure was standing by the rail.

Shocked, he had no time to reason why he shouted down to it,

“YOU.... HELLO.... HELLOW BELOW THERE!”

He waved his good arm backward and forward attempting to attract the figure's attention, but it stood resolute, staring down the track towards central Falture.

His hoarse voice brought the figure to life, as his arm stopped it’s travel he looked down again. The pale face that met his stands in his mind to this very day.

It was full of undisguised terror.

“MAY I COME DOWN... IS THERE A PATH DOWN?”

In so many dismal nights afterwards he regretted these words, the gift of remembering a burden. 

The figure gestured right towards a small gap in the fence. Thrusting his left arm into his jacket, he descended the steep gorge sides. With a confidence he found came to him easily, he strode towards the figure who had removed it's dark hood in greeting.

“This must be such a lonely spot, I suppose the line is your charge?"

He was breathing rather heavily, the exertion of the climb a strain on his fragile health.

The figure was close enough for him to touch and was looking challengingly into his eyes. He could not put down the impression of a deep melancholy in the figure. He stood on yet another precipice, no safe path to it’s centre, a slide into the depths of memory.

He felt a sudden subtle vibration under his feet. The figure stiffened, guided him to the side of the cutting with a languid but insistent gesture.

A moment later and a large droid piloted speed train screamed along the rail, carriages flying in its wake, each a blur of light. A moment later it was gone, the dull red glow of its tail light lingering in the dimly lit cutting.  
“I don’t suppose you get many people visiting you here?”

He tried a more friendly approach, really this figure had piqued his interest, all the dim imaginings of his illness replaced by such an enigmatic figure.

The look on the elderly man’s face was truly undefinable. It was weary and softened by time, yet a light in the eye told of a deep history. He wanted to get to know this fellow, and stood resolutely holding out his hand in greeting.  
The figure took a step forward, did not take the hand offered.

“Why did you shout those words to me?” said the man. That voice in the confines of the gorge reverberated like the hum of a distant water-deep bell.

“I thought it the best way to attract your attention.” He didn’t feel uneasy, but a small mole of pity grew within his heart towards this figure. 

“I wasn't sure if I had met you before” A tone flat with an edge of rust, as if from long disuse.

“I should have remembered you if I had my good man, aren’t you lonely in this fearsome place?” He turned to watch the last glimpse as the train shot itself towards Falture.

“It’s a place as good as any.” 

The figure had moved, the dim light outlining a craggy profile, grey hair with flashes of black lay over his face, hiding the lines of age and experience. Holding out his hand he motioned towards a small stone house in the side of the gorge, surrounded by a neat little garden. Entering, the two men sat facing each other over a well tended fire. Setting a small orange-white round metal kettle over the fire to boil the two stuck up a conversation.

The man asked if the work he did was rewarding, it was, but the responsibility of looking after this portion of the track was starting to way heavy on him. His solitude had only intensified of late, he’d tried to fill his every waking hour with some task or another, his garden being his main solace. He was well travelled and sometimes ventured out of the gorge to the hospital to talk to the droids, filling his head with useless nonsense instead of remembrances.

Once or twice during his monologues he would turn sharply to stare out of the hut window towards the narrowest point of the gorge, overhung by wind smoothed basalt pillars.

“I often wake in the night to the small sounds of a rock fall, I lie eyes open to the ceiling and the sound gets louder, deafening, building to a crash. I wake and walk outside, stand under the overhang to still my thoughts. Nothing stirs, but I can still feel the vibration, the tremor in my mind, deep breathing.”

The figure paused, on the edge of some confession, biting it back he started to make tea.

They’d agreed to meet again the next day, and as he ascended an easier route pointed out to him, his feeling of loneliness dissipated. A connection had been forged, and he looked with anticipation to the next evening. His long weeks of his confinement finally shaken off by the exhaustion the walk had gifted him. It had been worth it to have met such an intriguing character, and with a vivid image of him in his mind, he fell back into comforting sleep.

The next day was wet, sky and distant lake blurred, clouds poured onto his window, swimming down the panes of green glass. It was no use looking towards the gorge, the clouds had rolled in so defiantly that only the distant roll of thunder was clue to the passing of the speed train below, it’s passengers on their journey home.

In his dreams he’d seen the man in the tattered cloak standing by the track, looking up into the grey sky, always vigilant, always ready, indefatigable. But that lost look, the pleading stare as he'd said:

“When you return tomorrow, don’t call out, I’ll be waiting.”

That day dragged on more than any he'd spent in his life. His new friend was so unlike anyone he'd ever met, he felt protective in an odd loyal way, and if harm came to him he would sicken and never get over the loss. The thought was unnerving. 

Why would he feel this way for an old battered man who’s lost his mind, or at least had the smallest grip on sanity? Pity mixed with horror of the gorge and a warmness towards his friend left him lethargic, the droids concerned with the dip in his heath had fussed over his treatment much to his annoyance, at one point kicking a hygie-droid clean across the corridor amid frightened beeps and chirps.

The Medi-droids watched him with a machine's sense of concern, rolling away after a few moments to other duties. 

The man ambled outside, killing time before the agreed meeting. Stepping over broken ground past the garden walls, he recognised thousands of spacecraft parts sticking haphazardly through the grass. Spotting TIE fighter fins, X wing nose cones, destroyer gun turrets, grey paint peeling, a sorry sight. This grim battle graveyard reminded him of home so keenly that a twinge of remembered pain shot through his left arm.

He stumbled on a shard of grey metal, what at first looked not dissimilar to that off a freighter, instinctively putting out what remained of his left arm to arrest his fall, he remembered too late, smashed his head and saw stars.

Coming around he wasn’t sure how long he'd lain there, only that he felt very cold. Opening his eyes he could see a warm glow at his feet, felt the soft touch of wool, heard the reassuring hiss of a boiling kettle.

“When you didn’t arrive I knew where to find you.” 

His friend’s voice was kinder now, soft and full of concern. He'd removed his cloak, wrapping his visitor against the chill evening air.

“You must’ve taken a heavy knock, you've been asleep some hours.” 

The rain had ceased, allowing one of the Corellian moons to shine, a green blue shimmer picked out the leaves in the garden beyond, brightening the gloom of the gorge. All was warmth and welcome in the stone house. 

“Thank you so much my friend, I owe you so much...”

“Between friends there is no owing”

He handed him the mug of tea in his hand, the visitor accepted it gladly.

“While you’ve been unconscious I’ve made up my mind. It’s been many years since I really spoke to anyone so you will forgive my gruff manner?”

Sitting upright and pulling the black weather worn cloak closer, he settled and the man began.

“My father was from this planet, but I only arrived after many years drifting through the outer rim star systems. I suppose I was searching for something... I never found it.”

He shook his head to dispel some upsetting memory.

“I needed an occupation, I couldn’t just swan around the galaxy with no purpose, and hearing from a Hothian fur trader about this place I decided to take roots here. It’s not just the isolation that attracted me, but the thought that I could finally do some good for once. The line has been accident free throughout my tenure, and I intend to keep it that way.”

He paused, taking a mouthful of tea. His visitor shifted his aching arm, found no relief from the motion, replaced it in its original nook in the hood of the cloak. The man turned to look out the hut window again, as if a noise had alerted him to some movement, but nothing stirred, and he resumed his story.

“After a month I felt easier in my mind, I would wave to passengers on the slower trains, watch birds in the trees above the gorge, and I planted out my little garden. I was at peace after so much wandering, it had become home. Or as much home as I thought I deserved. I’d watch the yellow mellowing sky until it flowed into deep ultramarine blue, stars I knew so well from my youth hung above me. I’d get bits of news from passers by from time to time. Snippets from passing junk traders out to grab whatever spare parts they could from the broken ground I found you in. Incidentally where I found my faithful singing kettle.

But their news disturbed me deeply, the growing unease in government, uprisings on several small outer rim planets, the punitive expeditions putting down the unrest. It reminded me of so long ago, and when I closed my eyes to sleep that night, the face appeared to me.”

The visitor looked at the man sitting across the fire, slouched as if sleeping, yet shaking from head to foot. He wanted to put a reassuring hand on that broad shoulder, but the movement towards him jarred, his head pounding from the fall.

“If it’s too painful, I beg don’t speak of it, I never intended to bring you sadness.”

The dark man looked up with such mournful eyes, a smile suddenly gloriously lit up his face. 

“My dear friend your presence isn't painful to me, but peaceful. To talk to someone who I know will understand is... is...”

His dark eyes shone in the firelight, the kettle steamed gently. 

“It’s not an unkind face, but it offers no comfort, I can see it almost with my waking eyes. Often its just before a speed train enters the narrow cutting, just under the overhang. It’s almost as if it's trying to warn me “HELLO... HELLO TAKE CARE!”, I suppose that's why you looked so gravely at me yesterday when I asked if you and I had met somewhere before?”

“It did cross my mind” His kind nature kept back the real question in his mind.

“It’s a woman, I realize now, it’s so long since I’ve seen an expression like hers.... I’d.... forgotten.”

A tremble in his voice, he wiped his perspiring forehead with a cuff, put down his mug of tea and walked to the door. Leaning against the frame, he gazed towards the horizon.

“She won’t leave me, I’m certain of that. I wake from dreams with her words in my ear, face in my mind, in vain try to work out what she's wants to say, she looks so frustrated, so angry and disappointed in me”

He shifted his position, turned to look at his visitor.

“What is it that she wants me to do?” 

This said with so desperate a tone that those shining eyes fixed upon his visitor such a pleading look, those rare tears falling to the floor.

“Will she never forgi...?” He couldn’t complete his sentence, the gentle thrum of the track and a moment later a rush of sound and light as the speed train hurled itself through the gorge. As the sounds diminished an uncomfortable silence grew between them.

“Perhaps the face is just a figment of your imagination, after all, this place does lend itself to a certain.... well... for want of a better word... “haunted” feeling”

This comment drew dark lines on the old man’s forehead, not of concern, but resentment.

“I suppose you’re like some of the others around here, think I’m just some sand brained old man, a battered war relic talking nonsense, seeing visions?”

He was breathing heavily, the grey hair standing out at right angles on his head, fists clenched.

“If you just.... if you'd been there.... I...” anger better managed in his old age subsided, walking towards his visitor, he caught him in strong arms as a wave of pain shot through his frame.

“Is the arm any easier now?” real concern in that rich voice, eyes bright and attentive.

“It was on fire a moment ago, but it’s better... you must have the healing touch”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then returned to his guard post at the door. 

“I’ve seen so much in my life, so much pain, jealousy and regret. But nothing disturbs me more than her disappointment. I wish she would tell me what she needs.”

He helped his visitor home that evening, the cool lights of the recuperation wing a light to guide. Leaving his charge in the capable arms of a medi-droid the man stepped back into dull-grey twilight.

Three terrifying days passed until the invalid was fit enough to leave his room, a growing sense of concern for his friend’s welfare kept him sharp. Sweeping past a protocol droid that afternoon, he’d almost split it in two with his replaced mechanical hand. Grabbing his overcoat he strode outside.

Such a day he hadn’t seen since he'd left Jackku, the dry clear air a familiar scent after the scrubbed atmosphere of the hospital. 

A pull on his heart and he was flying through the gardens, what was it that had filled him with deep sudden dread, making his feet plough through the grass, pain in his arm gone as he threw himself over the wall of the garden, into the broken ground beyond and toward the gorge.

The medi-droid had seen his flight, emergency beeps sent a small army of securi-droids after his galloping figure, but he was too far away by now for them to intercept. He covered a mile in moments, gaining speed as he realized what was driving him, but it made no difference, he needed to get to his friend, to warn him.

He knew what she wanted, she’d told him. Standing by the creosote bushes she'd whispered in his ear... so quietly, yet clear as a peel of bells. His waking dream had been so vivid. 

She sat in the cock pit, surrounded by green shell fire, a sudden swoop of black wings, a screech and a gigantic explosion. Then falling, so far and so long, her ship burning through the Corellia's atmosphere, a sharp black shadow craft in close pursuit, one final desperate shot from her ships gun turret was enough to send them both plummeting to earth.

The fall to ground, a splintering of metal, fire and crunch of glass, the day riven in two by a man’s cry so desolate it would ring in his ears for years. 

He ran on, slammed past metal jutting out of the mud, flew over battered first order vessels, past resistance fighter cockpits. Veering to the left of the path a large black slash of gleaming steel barred his way, it’s lustre undimmed by the years it had stood there, smashed and burnt it still held a controlled menace only it’s pilot remembered.

Standing by the fighter, a brilliant flash of light then delayed boom, thundered into his brain. The panic stricken dash to the overhang just in time to watch the speed train leave the track and smash through the gorge. It somersaulted throwing carriages metres into the cool air. A sickening crushing sound as contact was made against the gorge sides, splintering smashing never ending crescendo of sound, so deafening that the residents of the hospital ran to the windows to see what the commotion was.

He stood looking towards the carnage, bodies lying twisted by the impact where they’d been thrown by the speed of the train. Large fires set the gorse aflame smoke billowing up to he heavens. The white hot glow of splintered metal, a grating release of noise as the final carriage came to rest.

Then silence, the familiar smell of death in his nostrils.

A dark figure was moving rapidly in the melee below, lifting wreckage with an ease which betrayed his master’s training. He guided survivors to safety, comforting each before climbing back into the wreckage for those more seriously hurt.

The engine had been buried under tonnes of rock scraped from the sides of the narrow cutting. 

The figure stood calmly, arm outstretched amidst the rumble of angry earth, a patter of small pebbles, vibrations filling the air with uncomfortable shimmer. Forgetting his own precarious position above he watched in awe as the train un-knotted itself, lifted from the gorge floor, each carriage set gently further down the track. He'd only heard his father's stories about men like this.

The hospital security droids had caught up with him by this stage, each sending alarmed beeps back to base. It would be moments till a full search and rescue crew were on hand.

With undisguised horror he yelled through the din to the figure beneath him...

HELLO...HELLO DOWN THERE... HELP IS ON THE WAY.... 

The figure in the carnage turned, looked up in alarm for a moment, but recognising his friend heard him shout.  
I KNOW WHAT SHE’S SAYING BEN.... I KNOW WHAT SHE WANTS YOU TO DO!

Ben looked up with his tired smile shining, tears in his kinder eyes. He had atoned, and with a sigh that shook his heaving chest, whispered...

“Rey... please Rey I'm so sorry.... I'm ready to come home my love .... wait for me”

The last thing he remembered was the sound of collapsing basalt beams, thousands of tonnes of old black-green stone tumbling into the abyss. The wreck had destabilised the overhang, with his friend standing directly below.  
He'd fallen to his knees, head in his mechanical hand, sobbing amongst the long grass.

He was found three hours later, just as the droids were bringing up Ben Solo’s lifeless body from the bottom of the gorge.


End file.
